48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 11: Juli

Author's Note: Julie is working out as Master's First Lady, but is worried about an upcoming presentation to a Minister for some "playtime." Here's how that evening goes. Enjoy!

J Spe

Chapter Sixteen: The Yoga Master

Igor comes into my office as the meeting schedule is closing out. Again, I have been Master's First Lady with success. There were a few more "Could you ask about's" and "Would you be able to see if's" than yesterday, all passed to Master and answered, sometimes after a good laugh, by Anne or Pat. Even Edward had been amused, which, I am coming to find, is a rare thing. My secret idea about Edward is that he's patterning himself after StarTrek's Mr. Spock, all aloof and analytical.

"Let's go for a stroll," Igor says.

He guides me past our kitchen, and I get a wave from Pat; my trainers keep each other informed. I'm wondering about this "stroll" when Igor grins and explains.

"In this business, you get used to taking precautions. Your office is such an obvious place to plant a bug, but walking the corridors gets you out of range of any one bug, and it's not likely Security would miss a line-up of bugs. The cameras, of course, will see us strolling, but they're on our side."

It's an idea I hadn't had. The law firm had taught me never to talk in public, especially in elevators. But, this is our home turf! He hadn't really asked a question, so I just nod.

Igor does some gesticulating, as if telling me a funny story, which I figure will make the camera guys happy. Then he becomes serious.

"The minister is pretty high up in the government here. The Chairman has good relations with the government, which is important to keeping his Enterprises rolling along. So, there are topics we don't want you to bring up tonight."

I know enough that this is something to concentrate on. Making a list and Checking it twice is definitely not part of the routine. For the cameras, I give a short, hearty laugh.

"Politics, of almost any kind, is out. Actually, unless it's some rebellion that's going to change the government, we don't really care about politics. The Party is in charge and it looks like staying in charge. Mao had a saying: 'The handle of the knife is firmly in the hand of the Party and the People.' What concerns us is economics. The big questions are what will the Party do about the exchange rate for the dollar or euro and what will the Party do with taxation? I don't think our minister is anywhere near those problems, so anything he might tell you about them is likely to just be office scuttlebutt.

"What we're currently interested in, you might be surprised about, is what's happening with the MTR, the Mass Transit Railway. Here on the south side of the island, we've never had good public transport. Oh, the buses run pretty well, but it's not as fast or comfortable as the subways on the north side. Every few years, some politician makes a splash with a big Plan" — and I can hear the capital P in Igor's voice — "but they don't put any money into it and nothing gets built. Now, there has been some real work planned, but we haven't seen anything tangible. We have some real estate on the island, and it would be good to know if it's going to be more or less valuable if and when anything gets built. Tonight's minister might have some news about that project.

"Of course, he wouldn't have gotten as far as minister if he wasn't aware of the value of the news he might let slip. On the other hand, he also knows how highly we value the girls we bring here as First Lady, so he's going to see any 'slip' as a pretty even payment in kind.

"That's where your job gets harder. Anne and I know how exciting you can be. But, that's because we've taught you things that we know Western types find exciting. Tonight's minister, it seems, is a yoga master. We don't have much on what he wants, except that he's said to be very patient. He can run a yoga session for a couple of hours, we've learned. So, when he tells you something you're not sure of, you tell him so and ask for guidance. In any case, giving him that control can't be a negative."

I consider what Igor has told me. Stay away from politics. Probe about the south side subways. He's probably going to ask for some yoga positions and I'll have to ask for direction there. Not much of a briefing, is it?

Well, I've been on blind dates with less background. Of course, those were when I could say No and Stop, words I'm not going to be able to say tonight.

"Please, Sir, is he going to want to try anal tonight?" I'm not a fan of anal intercourse, mainly because it wasn't ever good on the times I tried it.

I catch Igor considering for a moment and know that he's trying to be kind. "We don't think so. The idea is that he doesn't know how tight you might be. He knows you've just arrived and he's probably pretty sure that the Chairman didn't get you from a dockside brothel, and so he's probably not going to be that demanding. On the other hand, Julie, I won't kid you that it might come up."

I flash my trainer a smile. He responds, and I know he'll be there with the cavalry if things get too far out of hand.

At least, I hope so. I never found out what price Master paid for me, but for the time my auction went on, it had to be pretty high. Master won't want his chattel damaged, will he?

What a comforting thought!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dinner, I think, goes well. Igor, Charles, Anne and I meet the minister in the upstairs lobby with Charles making the introductions. Mr Minister eyes my white Calvin Klein halter dress, takes my hand gently and murmurs how pleased he is to meet me again. I smile and curtsy and say "My pleasure, Mr Minister." Not very Shakespearean, is it?

We chat about the usual stuff — weather, mostly, but a bit of local gossip — before Chef comes out and invites us to his dining room. With a wave of his hand, Chef directs us to a buffet of mostly salads, but with some fish and meat platters.

"Mr Minister, I took the liberty of checking with your staff and they suggested that a salad buffet would be the best idea for tonight," Chef announces.

Mr Minister, who is a plain-looking man, with hair neatly trimmed, wearing an impeccably tailored grey suit set off by a patterned blue tie, laughs. "Good idea, my friend. I've been to a formal dinner each of the past three nights and I'm afraid I've enjoyed them too much. This is just right. Thank you for thinking of my staff. I'll be sure to pass that on to them."

I'm impressed. Here's a politician not campaigning for votes and he's still making nice remarks. Chef leads him through the buffet while an assistant loads a plate as Minister makes his choices. The rest of us, of course, follow and load up on our own.

As Minister is walking to the table, Chef suggests a choice of wines. There is some discussion about the selection, but I'm sure I'm getting ginger ale, right?

Conversation around the table is a bit more substantial. After all, our guest is a leader of an important part of the world's economy. His views are heard with great respect and only Charles has enough background to suggest additional factors for consideration. I can see that Minister's respect for Charles is substantial.

About the time the group finishes Chef's bottle of wine (I was right, ginger ale for me!), Anne rises and suggests that Minister might be comfortable in the guestroom to the right. There is some handshaking and polite Thank You's all around and my Minister takes my arm and we saunter down the hall to the right.

I suppose I should be angry. I could have invited Mr Minister, couldn't I? By having Anne make the invitation, I am clearly just a piece of property being loaned out, kind of like a library book. Of course, I quickly realize that that's exactly what is being done.

Ruefully, I make a small chuckle. My Minister hears it and asks the reason.

I can't say I'm laughing at my slavery, can I? Fortunately, my Inner Goddess supplies a perfect line. "My dear Minister, I've been looking forward to tonight since the inquiry came. I'm certain you'll keep me entertained and laughing all evening, won't you?"

Well, my Minister has a moment of surprise flash across his face, but then grins and, as he hands me into the guestroom, accepts my challenge. "My dear Julie, I won't be happy until you faint from laughter."

He has a quick dekker around the room, lighting some lamps and bringing the room some brightness. Anne and Pat showed me the room earlier, and I'm sure of where all the toys are. I wait at the foot of the four-poster king-size bed until Minister is satisfied.

He comes to stand before me for a moment, then reaches out a hand to stroke my hair. Pat has combed and brushed it to a shining fall of tresses. His hands go to the zipper pull at my neckline and the dress parts, dramatically presenting my breasts to my Minister.

Minister smiles and says, "This new style, with zippers looking like they are of industrial strength, is a style I think I could get to like. Some of the artifices the designers use are really quite impossible for us poor men to handle."

I stand, making sure to keep my hands from moving to cover myself. Again, my Inner Goddess has a line ready.

"But, Sir, if it was a man who designed them, I would expect any man could operate them, right?"

My Minister has a good laugh at this. He holds the dress open and his eyes glitter at the sight of my breasts. Pat has applied a light rouge to my aureolae and nipples, saying that there's a surprise there. Before he touches me, however, he reaches for the gold clasps at the back of my neck and the halter top slips down. In one movement, I am bare to the waist.

Minister's hands move to support my breasts. All is still for several moments, and then I realize that this yoga master is taking deep and regular breaths. I try to match him and his eyes open in surprise. "Julie, are you skilled in yoga, then?"

I make a moue and look down in submission. "No, Sir, I've tried a few times, but I've never been flexible enough to reach many of the positions of yoga."

His smile is warm and his tone is friendly. "Well then, my dear, tonight I shall be a yogi for you and make it possible for you to reach at least a few of my favorite positions."

I have to giggle at this double entendre, and Sir joins me. He moves his hands a bit and I get a short tingle in my nipples. The textured cotton/viscose material of my dress slides from my body and I step daintily out of it. Now, I am naked, nude. And a bit aroused, I am surprised to find.

Sir sheds his jacket and I quickly drape it over the valet stand near the bed. With a wink, I move to his tie and shirt, adding them to the stand. A moment to undo his belt allows Sir to step out of his trousers, which I kneel to gather. While I'm there, I efficiently remove his shoes and hose. I circle behind Sir and embrace him, ready to remove his undershirt and he helps by raising his arms. When all is folded and draped on the valet stand, I kneel before him, ready to draw down his shorts. All this has taken just a few moments, and has been done in silence, except for Sir's regular breathing. My own breathing is a bit more agitated and faster. This whole ballet is moving me up the arousal ladder, I find.

"With the teeth only, my dear," comes Sir's instruction for his shorts. I have practiced this with Igor many times, and I pull off his last clothing with skill and efficiency. Sir moves to the bed and points to a place a meter in front of him. I kneel and bend my head in submission, but Sir raises my chin so he may stare into my eyes.

"The eyes are a window into the soul, my dear," Sir says. I have heard that line before, but the intensity Sir brings to the act seems to lift me off the carpet a bit. He takes my hands in his and we are now breathing in the same rhythm and I can feel the attraction between us. Sir is in no hurry and, as I look at him seeing into my depths, I realize his gaze has not flicked to my breasts for a moment. I understand that this man has control and is in control, something I must report to my trainers. In a few moments, I feel the muscles of my face and neck relax and soften. My brows unknit; my jaw unclenches; I am 100% present.

Sir rises and goes through a few yoga poses, ending with a slight jump and Sir standing, feet wide apart in a sort of lunge position, his hands stretched forward and back, and his eyes looking forward over his outstretched arm. He takes a few deep breaths and, just a bit of relaxation in his pose, softly issues instructions so I can match the pose.

"This is Virabhadra, the Warrior II pose. It is named after a fierce warrior, an incarnation of Shiva. We describe him as having a thousand heads, a thousand eyes, and a thousand feet. He wields a thousand clubs and wears the skin of a tiger. Tonight, I put you in this pose to engage your pelvic muscles."

As I breathe, I can feel the air descending through my body and strengthening those pelvic muscles. Sir comes beside me and, after stroking my neck and back for a few moments, rests his palm over my pussy. He presses, first gently and then more firmly, against my sensitive area until I abandon the quiet, deep, regular breathing for a series of gasps and moans.

Sir continues his lecture. "These taps are designed to wake up the muscles and nerves in this area."

My body is almost aflame and my mind is streaming through the cosmos. My Inner Goddess is awake and shrieking at me to Hold the Pose! Don't Move a Muscle! I manage.

Sir drops two fingers inside my sheath and I don't manage anymore. I crumple in a heap at Sir's feet. Instantly, I can think only of how I have failed my Master's guest and the "correction" that is sure to follow.

But Sir is laughing! Full-throated, belly-shaking laughs! I manage to fold into a kneeling position and wait for Sir's judgment.

But, Sir smiles at me. His voice light, he says, "My dear Julie, the muscles are to awaken so they can do the next service, not crumple into a puddle of girl." He is taken by another spasm of laughter.

In the moment, I recover some of the poise which I remember I had at the law firm. "Please, Sir, what is the next service?" I'm smart enough not to dwell on failing this Virabhadra service.

Sir's arm lifts me to my feet and we approach the bed. "After such a fierce pose as Virabhadra, the muscles must be relaxed by massage. There should be some oil ready?"

OK! This I can do. In fact, my trainers have kidded me that I must be part Swedish, maybe even Viking. I arrange Sir prone and warm some oil from the bedside table in my hands. I start with a shoulder, move down to the hand, and then cross over to the other shoulder. Neck and back follow in their own time and Sir offers some encouraging sighs or moans as I work out some tight muscle.

I am about to move to his hips and glutes when my Minister rolls over, sits up, and grins at me.

"No, Julie, we don't want to soften the leg muscles. We still have much for them to do this evening.

"Now, there is the small correction to be applied from your failure to hold the Virabhadra pose, yes?"

I sigh, inwardly of course. I must not give my betters any idea that I might not agree with them. Minister moves from the bed, taking me with him, to the foot of the bed. He picks up the leather wristlet where it is dangling from a short chain to the top of the bedpost and wraps it around my left wrist. The right wrist is similarly imprisoned and I face the foot of the bed, hands raised as an acolyte.

Minister sits on the foot of the bed just to my right, his legs now surrounding my own. His right hand traces upward, from my soft belly to my navel and up my right ribcage to my breast. I am soon breathing quickly as his hand explores the curves of my breast and nipple. I make the mistake of leaning into his right hand when his left hand crashes into my butt, administering a first-class spank. I have fallen for the oldest trick in the bdsm book: distract the slave while the painful stroke is coming. Automatically, I respond with a count.

"One, Sir. Please, may I have another."

Minister obliges and I report the count. "Two, Sir. Please, may I have another."

It is the standard reply throughout slavery, my trainers have taught me, and it will continue as long as the Master wishes. Triced up to the bedposts, I can hardly offer any resistance. My allegiance to Martin, my Master, is all that prevents me from screaming.

My Minister finishes my right cheek at five. As I could have predicted — had anyone asked, which nobody ever does — he moves around to my left side and the process is repeated. Now, however, I know, or think I know, that there will be only five spanks, and this knowledge sustains me through the ordeal. Again, I manage the count without any screams.

Sir stands and strokes his targets lovingly. "Julie, thank you for your submission. I will make a point of telling your trainers that you felt no need to scream. It will be a great credit to you and to their training."

Well, that's a new one! I push my Inner Goddess down when she is about to comment on his assessment of my "absent need to scream." Unnecessary!

My Minister rummages in the small refrigerator near the bathroom door and comes up with two small bottles and an opener. His, I see, is a split of Champagne. Mine, you guessed it, is ginger ale. It's fortunate I like ginger ale, although, in the time before Blue Bayou, I really liked Champagne more. I recall the importance the gym folks gave to "post-exercise replacement nutrition" and look forward to the ginger ale. More rummaging finds a flute for him and a glass straw for me. Minister holds my bottle and straw up for me and we sip in silence for the time it takes for the fire in my butt to simmer down.

Minister selects a pillow and places it on the bed before me. I'm not sure what he's planning until he slides in front of me and sits on the pillow. It elevates his mouth to the level of my tits. Minister wraps each of his legs around one of mine, forcing me to a spread-leg stance. It is a perfect posture for Minister's hands to rove all over my body. He plays each of my areas like a virtuoso. First, one breast and the opposite bottom cheek. Then, a thigh and a shoulder. Next, both underarms; here, I practically sag into giggles as Sir tickles me without mercy.

All along, Minister is gazing into my eyes, savoring the flashing emotions running through them. Mostly, I guess, the sensations are pleasurable when he's using the pads of his fingers and a stroking maneuver. But, Minister also uses his nails in a pinching maneuver. He hasn't gone near my labia or my clitoris, but he's got me climbing the ladder of arousal. I'm breathing totally at his rhythm and I cannot tear my eyes away from his. Even my Inner Goddess is silent, simply aching for more.

At some point, my Minister decides he's hungry, so he sucks my left nipple into his mouth and starts sucking and nibbling on the tender bud. With my arousal level already high, it takes no time for the nipple to become rock hard. Minister switches to the right nipple and in seconds I am moaning with need.

My trainers have made me understand that a slave doesn't own her own orgasms, that she must receive permission before she climaxes. I manage to gasp my request before I get to the point of explosion.

Minister adopts a ministerial mien. He stops his hands, his lips, his teeth, and his tongue to consider my plea. We breathe, in unity, while he considers.

While he considers, my body slides down the ladder of arousal. I'm sure he sees the dejection and defeat in my eyes. He hasn't said No, but I am no longer on the edge. My eyes leave his and my head bends in submission. My trainers have told me that much of a slave's work is to wait. I wait.